The Horrible Life of Mr Snippy: 500 X 500 Lifetimes
by FadedScribbles
Summary: Follow Mr. Snippy through his countless reincarnations and previous ancestors lives, varying from a WWI soldier to a college student or even as a mental patient. A mass collaboration between several writers for Romantically Apocalyptic. Chapter genres and ratings vary.
1. Thom Snippy, World War I Soldier

_FadedScribbles_; Welcome to the first chapter of a mass collaboration between several of the fan fiction writers amongst the Romantically Apocalyptic fandom. For this chapter, I am simply the moderator, not the actual writer. So if you wish to exert enthusiastic praise for this particular chapter, direct it towards Dark Lady Devinity. Feel free to review, but keep in mind that I won't be the one to reply, and instead you should expect each chapters writer if they so choose to reply.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the hard work of these writers.

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**The Horrible Life of Mr. Snippy: Thom Snippy, World War I soldier**

_Dark Lady Devinity_

**A/n: **Imagine this Snippy with a really strong English accent. He's also an ancestor but you can consider him a previous reincarnation too if you want.

I have an entire head-canon dedicated to this now.

**The Horrible Life of Mr. Snippy: Thom Snippy, World War I soldier**

The man was wandering around No Man's Land seemingly aimlessly until the corporal realised that he was speaking to the dead. The man was near enough to the trenches- and talking rather loudly at that- that the corporal knew the man was speaking German. He didn't look like he was a soldier though. That gas mask looked to be military grade but with the mustard gas frequently choking out all breathable air it would be stupid not to wear a mask. His clothes weren't military grade though and- considering that he was _wandering around No Man's Land_- he didn't seem all that sane. The poor thing was probably shell shocked. The corporal just had rescued an Australian sergeant from a plane crash a few days ago and that young man had lost a good bit of his memory due to brain trauma. Surely the Germans had the same problems on their side as well.

"Snippy!"

The corporal jumped, not expecting to be yelled at by his superior officer.

Corporal Thomas Snippy turned to face a rather irritable major. Snippy was always doing something to offend his superior officers. He either was too sarcastic or far too prone to talking back. When he first joined the army he was often told he wasn't enthusiastic enough- never mind that Snippy had joined the army because of his father's haunted look when news of the war broke out. James Snippy had fought in the first Boer War when it began and buried two brothers when the second ended. Thomas couldn't bear the thought of war coming to the shores of England to claim what was left of his father's soul.

"Why haven't you shot that man Corporal?" Major Williams asked.

"I don't think he's military sir. I don't kill civilians." Snippy replied. "Besides, he's not doing anything."

"He is disrespecting the dead!"

"He's offering Private Smith's corpse some tea, sir. I don't think he knows that those men are dead."

"Oh, so you speak German now?"

Snippy sighed and rubbed at tired blue eyes. He had to be the unluckiest man in the world. "We just watched him pull a mug out of his coat and give it to the Private. I can't just shoot a crazed civilian. It would be cruel."

Williams gave Snippy a strange look. He was always saying odd things like that. Snippy was a bitter pessimist that was born between the Boer Wars. His father was a damaged war veteran who had lost a leg and his mother barely made enough wages working in the factories. Yet he was still cared deeply for people and was always doing nice things for others under a sarcastic cover. Never mind the fact that he was a skilled sharpshooter and had killed more than his share of German soldiers. Snippy, bad luck and all, was just the type of man who would go offer shelter to an unfortunately mentally ill person from the enemy side and then get shot in the head by said mentally ill person or an enemy sniper.

Williams sighed. Snippy might be his best sharpshooter but the man was an idiot sometimes. "This will come back to bite you in the ass, Thom. Don't say you weren't warned when your little crusade of mercy backfires on you."

Snippy hummed. "My luck can't be that bad."

**XxX**

Heavy rain poured from the heavens like a thousand lost souls weeping and the ground under their feet had turned to hellish mud. A young private from Liverpool stood beside Snippy in nervous apprehension and then his head was blown clean off. Snippy ignored the gore that stuck to his uniform. The rain should wash the worse of it off.

The squad had attempted to take another mile of No Man's Land when an unexpected storm hit. Soldiers were firing indiscriminately into the black air. Snippy had no idea if his squad mate had been hit by a lucky German soldier or a blinded English soldier. Friendly fire was possible when such weather occurred. Everyone was blind to what was a foot or more ahead of them or behind them.

Snippy regretted the death of each man in his squadron but now wasn't the time to think about them. Every dead man had to be pushed to the back of his mind as the living still needed him; Snippy was the one trying to lead everyone back to their home trench. Their little stretch of trench would be flooded and filled with mud and blood but it would offer some shelter. Snippy preferred fending the rats off of the wounded men to having those same men get their heads shot off. At least in the trenches they could hide and if they choose to cry then the heavy rains would disguise the tears. No one would have to know that they were momentarily weak.

And then he saw him.

Snippy wondered if the major had put a curse on him when he saw the same German from before sitting on a decimated tree stump and _singing_. The crazed idiot didn't even seem to realise that the sky was trying to drown everybody. Groaning, Snippy dashed forward and grabbed the man. He then proceeded to drag the German back to the trenches with him.

Somewhere along the way Snippy got turned around. He tumbled into a mud filled trench and, although all the trenches were unrecognizable by now, this one was most certainly not his. It was completely empty for one thing. Sighing, Snippy realised he had fallen into one of the abandoned trenches from the last time the army tried to overtake the enemy.

There was no choice but to get comfortable and hope that no rats tried to nibble on his toes while he attempted to simultaneously sleep and not drown. He turned to his crazed German and started to fuss over him. The man seemed unharmed. Snippy stared in horrified amazement at this man that looked like he had gone for a Sunday stroll instead of a terrifying death defying run through the trenches of France.

The German amicably chatted with Snippy about this and that. Snippy nodded conversationally and said, "Yes. I did not understand a word of that. Do you know any English or shall I just say any little thing that comes into my mind?"

The German just continued to talk. Snippy ducked to avoid a hand- that man liked to talk with his hands- and decided he wasn't surprised that his companion was unbothered by the lack of shared language. The man did talk to corpses in No Man's Land after all.

**XxX**

That night, whenever Snippy managed to get a little bit of sleep, he'd dream strange things. He would dream that Sergeant Jacob Hatchenson- the young Australian pilot Snippy had saved- was infatuated with the crazed German that Snippy had found. Hatchenson didn't seem much saner in those dreams either despite the fact that he was simply amnesic when Snippy last saw him. He certainly hadn't regressed back to a child state. Besides that, Jake and Thom had actually gotten along alright. The Hatchenson in the dream seemed to hate him. Snippy didn't know the Russian man in the dreams. Perhaps he was Snippy's counterpart on the Eastern Front. Snippy hoped not. The Russian seemed to be a klutzy academic instead of a soldier… but this was only supposed to be a quick war so it was possible that the Russian had been duped into thinking that joining the fighting would be fun. He wouldn't have been the first person to have thought that.

Snippy was eventually shaken awake by a somber looking German holding out his mug of… water? The German was stuffing a flask back in his pocket with his free hand. Snippy wondered if he had woken the odd German by crying out in his sleep. He wondered if he could explain that what he had been dreaming wasn't quite a nightmare.

"Why do you have a mug? You can drink directly from the flask." Snippy pondered aloud as he took the mug and studied it. The storm had ended and moon light was shining down on them so Snippy was able to make out a little of the design.

The German paused and seemed to be thinking hard. Finally, he managed to find what he wanted to say. "Daughter's. Is… good luck. _Ja_?"

Snippy smiled softly and pulled some photos from his breast pocket.

"My brother and his son." Snippy said.

The German nodded enthusiastically. "_Familie_ _ist_ good luck."

Family was the motivation for getting out of hell alive instead of giving in and dying. Snippy could appreciate how someone would think that family brought good luck. The corporal took a large mouthful of water from the mug and then handed it back.

"I wonder what caused you to be wandering around France without any indication that you belong here." Snippy said. Of course his companion could provide no answer.

**XxX**

He had decided to let the German go. Snippy couldn't bear the thought that he would spend the rest of the war in a POW camp. The corporal was convinced that the man had lost a good portion of his mind and had gotten lost. Perhaps he had lived on the border between France and Germany before the war started. Snippy wondered if he'd ever see the other man again.

Maybe in another life.

**END**


	2. Simon Snippy, Egypt: 20 of October 1923

FadedScribbles: I'm pleased to present the next chapter, this time from writer Worstcase. I hope you enjoy this segment as I did. Proceed on.

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_Author__:_** Worstcase**

_Simon Snippy 20. of October 1923_:

We had incredible luck with our expedition so far.

Just last year Howard Carter had discovered the grave of Tut-Ench-Amun and thus proven that not all crypts in the Valley of the kings had either been discovered or plundered already.

So the Professor had found a sponsor willing to take some chances with another dig. I'm not sure how he had convinced Dr. Gromov, one of the leading manufacturers of war-machines to hand over some of the fortune he had made while Europe was burning in the war, maybe the Professor showed him that strange trick with the dice of his.

But never mind now. I had served my five years in the Foreign Legion in Marokko and my contract ran out about that time I met the Professor there. I'm still not sure how he talked me into working for him either. Now I've been here, under Egypt's sun for two months already.

Just a week ago we found something interesting: A caved in staircase, probably the entrance to the crypt the Professor has been looking for. It took us a few days to remove all the rubble but we reached a large sealed door at the end of a corridor covered with hieroglyphs and old Egyptian murals. We had a lot of time at hand to try our luck with deciphering those in the meantime, since Dr. Gromov ordered us to wait with opening the door until his arrival.

Yes, he's coming here, he's planning some flashy show for the press as well – I wonder how that will turn out, should the crypt be actually empty, grave robbers usually don't walk in through the door after all, they may have dug a tunnel from behind and raided the tomb some thousand years ago.

While we're waiting I take shifts with the Professor's butler in guarding that door from today's raiders. There have been three attempts to break into the crypt at night so far, but we were able to fend them all off. That butler is a strange fellow. I'm not sure where the Professor has found him. I don't know his real name, since ‚Butler' is all the Professor ever calls him. He is strong like a bear even though his built is rather small and slim. I have seen him take out a whole group of five or six armed men without even so much as drawing that sabre of his. He even seemed to be angry when I came to his aid, saying the Professor had given the order to protect the door to him for the night, and I shouldn't steal that from him. Maybe he is worried that the Professor considers replacing him with me if he is slacking off even slightly? I tried to strike a conversation with him, but Butler only ever talks about the Professor, reincarnation of gods or some nonsense about cows. Is he from India or completely insane?

I cast another look at the photos we made of the murals in the corridor. I'm not an archaeologican but they are definitely strange, like none other I have seen in books or some of the other crypts so far. First off there is a cat. Nothing unusual in old Egyptian art, but this one seems to have… antlers? When the Professor saw it for the first time he chuckled and said „Oh it's definitely a Wolpertinger, most amüsant." What is a wolpertinger something like a jackalope? Then there is this disc or spindle shaped object hovering above everything glowing like a sun. What is that thing supposed to be? Not the moon, for sure. Next thing is this disturbingly huge Spider surrounded by bones and skulls. I know proportions are usually off in this style of art - but this much? It is bigger than the four warriors surrounding it. One of them coweres on the ground in fear, one wields a sword at the spider, the third shoots arrows from a bow and the last one … well he holds something in his hand …a cup? ..a heart? It's hard to tell.

Enough of that Butler is here, seems it's my shift for the guard, I'll just grab my rifle and do my duty. We have been really lucky so far, I'm sure all those nightmares I've been having for a week now mean absolutely nothing.


	3. William Snippy, The Writer

_FadedScribbles: Hello again, and I'll try to keep my soliloquy short. Thanks to those who have been reading and giving good marks to these writers, and I hope you will enjoy what is yet to come. I'll leave the rest to you. Please enjoy the work of Temarcia. _

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**Author: Temarcia**

_William Snippy, The Writer_

It had started with a dream. No, it was not an ordinary dream. It was a nightmare, so vivid, so horrible. It was one of those nightmares that made you feel like you would never fall asleep again.

The blood, the pain, the horror of dying slowly. Not just dying – being consumed by the death. Being a fly trapped in the web of a merciless spider. Helpless.

After that, the insomnia came. Sleepless nights full of fear of closing my eyes even for a second. No, I don't remember how long it lasted. Weeks? Months maybe? Who would have counted? It was like a restless dream back then. Everything I did, everything I said, it is all a blurry memory by now. The only thought that wouldn't leave my head was writing it down, writing about those nightmares. The idea of putting those terrifying images on paper seemed like the only way to free my mind from them once and for all. That was, how I started my first novel. And that was, why Susan left me.

I think, I understand her. She must have thought that I was going crazy. I was obsessed with that story. I was typing every night, rarely talking to her and never going anywhere with her. We didn't even sleep together anymore. I guess, it was meant to end up like that. But I really needed to write. It wasn't what one would call being inspired. It was something different, more like a curse and a cure for insomnia at the same time. I couldn't go to sleep before I finished a few pages. And every new page was more disturbing than the previous one. The Dead World from my dreams was slowly growing bigger with every abandoned place, every grotesque monster and every deranged character I created. And somehow this imaginary world became more real to me than the real one. The part of me already lived there and the Dead World lived in me. I worked on the book for almost two years. When it was finally finished I realized that I was alone. Without Susan, without the story to write – the emptiness surrounded me. There was a hole in my soul; I was missing the Dead World.

That was when I decided to get some help. My psychologist diagnosed depression. Syndromes were rather obvious: spending half of the day in the bed, lacking appetite, avoiding other people, not doing anything productive. Thank god, I got published so I had money to survive. But I didn't have much will to survive, it felt like I was already dead. The psychologist advised me to get back to writing. I tried, but words didn't come to me as easily as before. I wasn't able to write anymore. All I could do was type the single sentence over and over again. "In his dreams he saw this place and one day as he opened his eyes the Dead World awaited", there was only that. I desperately needed inspiration because, unlike the character in my unwritten story, I couldn't wait forever for something to happen.

In search of inspiration I stumbled upon pubs, dumpy night clubs, cheap hotels and many other run-down hellholes where the alcohol was nasty and so were the costumers. In the one of those godforsaken places I met her. It was a rainy morning and I was sipping my morning coffee after another wasted night. I didn't know or care how the bar was called, but I remember the latest hit of Red Hot Chili Peppers playing. She was listening to that song while cleaning tabletops. She worked there as a waitress – not really my type but after breaking up with Susan I wasn't very picky. I thought she was just an ordinary girl with the ordinary brown hair and not so ordinary accent. But it was she who told me that story. The story that changed everything, the story about the truth behind the Chernobyl disaster.

According to the waitress, the accident had been caused by a man who had spilled his tea on the reactor. He had survived the explosion but he had become radiated so badly that his whole face had melted. However, with the radiation poisoning had come some mysterious power. The man had possessed paranormal abilities and nothing could physically harm him anymore. The scientist had become interested in him believing that his powers would help them find the cure for the cancer or maybe even for every incurable diseases. So, they had locked the man with no face in some secret laboratory in Moscow. The poor thing would have probably spent the rest of his live there if not for the coup d'état attempt that had taken place in USSR last year. Rumors said that during the event the strange-looking man with the black gas mask covering his face had been seen riding a tank on the streets of Moscow. He had disappeared afterwards.

The girl didn't know what had happened to him but he was believed to have gone to Canada most likely in the company of the other test subject and befriended Russian scientists. I asked no more questions, she had me intrigued and I didn't want to show it. Some other clients entered the bar, the radio playing another sad song. Before I left, she turned to me and said: "You won't find him but if you're looking for the purpose, he will be the one to find you." And after the moment of silence she added: "Just remember – BEWARE THE MUG!"

I didn't get that weird warning but strangely enough, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the fact that I found what I was looking for and from that time I knew exactly what to write about.


	4. Lisa Kendrick, Beginning of the End

_FadedScribbles: Hello once again, and for this chapter we've gained a chapter from Izzi89. I hope you will enjoy this chapter just as you have the others, and as I keep encouraging, check out each author for yourself to see what other works they have created. I present Izzi89's contributation._

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**Author: Izzi89**

**Beginning of the End**

Today is very important for Lisa Kendrick, more important than she realizes. She had just woken from a dream, which in itself was pretty significant, since she hardly dreamed at all. In that dream, she had seen herself running through an empty dead world. She'd been there before. She vaguely remembers, that a long time ago, she used have nightmares about that place. It had been filled with monsters and scary things. But then one day, it all went away. Instead, she'd usually be in empty parts of the dead land, all alone. Other times, she'd watch people fighting the monsters. But it was as if she wasn't there, no one seemed to notice her existence. She vaguely remembers sitting with her knees pulled to her just, and leaning against a wall this time, staring out at the empty land. After a short while, _he_ came along. She stared up at the towering figure, locking her eyes on the blue of his goggles. He didn't say anything, he usually didn't, but he always managed to make her feel better.

And then she was awake._ Another day, such joy!_ She couldn't help by think sarcastically, even though she was truly interested in that day. The 7 year old's class was going on a field trip that day, to the museum that showed what the world once was, and contained. Once dressed, she slowly made her way down from her room to the living area. Her mother was in the kitchen setting her usual blueberry smoothie on the table. When she noticed the child coming her way, she stopped what she was doing. "No good morning mommy?" she said, placing a hand on her hip, and raising a brow.

Lisa didn't answer, she'd learned it was always better not to. Her parents, James and Jennet Kendrick, were the two most average people on the planet. Jennet seemed to hold a grudge against her daughter, for being different and disrupting the family's ordinariness. Though there was nothing anatomically wrong with her. They knew because the mother had all physical and mental examinations preformed on her, aside from having her brain dissected. She was simply different, and so unable to fit in, and Jennet couldn't help but blame it on Lisa. Once done with her breakfast, Lisa got up quietly. Her mother walked her to the door, making sure that she had her permission info uploaded into her school E-pad. "Don't forget your gasmask, make sure it's secure." She said, as she tucked the pad into the girl's backpack

The girl did as told, she hated wearing the mask, it made it really hard to breath. But the air outside was just too polluted not to wear it. They had filters installed in all houses, buildings, and public transportation vehicles. But the only solution was wear gasmasks everywhere else. It wasn't long before the school bus was honking outside. Jennet looked at her child one last time, making sure she looked as normal as possible. She ignored the abnormally piercing gaze of the child's large blue eyes, and attempted to smooth her short and eternally messy blond-peppered, brown hair. Lisa fixed her mask on her face, and waited for her mother to give her the good-to-go signal. The woman bit her lip, trying to find something to fix, but couldn't find anything. So she gestured for her daughter to get to the impatiently honking bus.

Lisa left the house, glancing briefly at the gray sky, then at the bus stopped at the end of the street. Adjusting her backpack over her shoulder, she glanced at her dire surroundings. The world was no longer a beautiful place, she realized just how sad that was. The weather was always bad, the sky always grey, and turning worse by every passing moment. The vegetation was quickly dying, there were only few patches of pale dry grass around, and fewer trees scattered here and there. Her gaze surveyed the dry land and the weakening structures, then jumped to the dark horizon. Toxic gases filled the air, and the polluted land was slowly growing closer. Many blocks had been moved, because the area was just too infected to live in. Lisa suspected that her family would need to move in a few more years, because of what some of the locals were starting to call 'the dead zone'.

The girl stopped in her tracks, as she saw an animal trying to graze in a small patch of brown weeds. It was a small dear, or at least, it had once been that. It had an extra leg, and deformed appendages. Large warts puckered on its back, and its slimy pink flesh was only covered by patches of short bristle hair. The creature wasn't exactly cutting off Lisa's path. Nevertheless, the girl froze, staring sorrowfully at what should've been a beautiful dear. The bus honking suddenly awoke her from her passiveness. "C'mon kid, we don't have all day!" the driver shouted at her, "Are you coming or what?"

Lisa slowly turned her eyes towards the bus, then walked over to it with hurried steps. She received a glare from the driver and her teacher as she climbed into the bus. Lowering her head slightly, she tried to tune out the taunts her classmates shouted at her. She wasn't surprised when the teacher didn't say a word in her defense. She, and everyone else knew that she was different. There wasn't anything in particular that made her different, but there was this odd vibe around her, that everyone could pick up on. She found a place near the back of the bus and sat next to the window. Glancing briefly at the surrounding children, she found them all preoccupied playing with their E-pads, cell phones, and other electronic devices. She looked back out the window. Her family couldn't afford a better quality E-pad, and whatever electronic device she had, seemed to malfunction more often than not.

"Hey freak!" The voice of a bully taunted from the seat behind her, "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

He proceeded to poke her from around the seat, and then tap her roughly on the head. "What's the matter freak? Cat got your tongue?" he said, as his associates snickered.

Lisa tried to tune him out, and ignore the jabs through the back of the cushion. A girl then peeked over the seat in front of her. "Guess what I hear freak?" she laughed, "I heard, that you are afraid of mugs!"

The blue eyed girl stared without answer, but the boy sitting behind her burst out laughing. "Did you hear that everyone?" he called out loudly, getting the attention of the rest of the class, "The freak is afraid of mugs!"

All the children began laughing, causing Lisa to shrink back slightly. She wasn't so much _afraid_ of mugs, albeit she felt uncomfortable with them somewhat.. The girl was most likely referring to the incident when Lisa was a toddler, and her father brought home a regular, white ceramic mug with the words "I 3 U" printed largely on its front. It triggered some sort of primal fear in the young child, and James had to dispose of it. As to how the girl heard about it, was beyond Lisa. But it probably had to do with the not so little amount of gossip about her. The taunting chants continued.

"Pipe down back there Carson." The teacher called from the front of the bus, messaging her temples. Apparently, only bothered by the effect the noise was having on her aching head, rather than the torment inflicted on girl.

Soon, the noise died down, and the kids went back to playing games and texting each other. Lisa turned to stare out the window once more, it was no less depressing. The buildings in close vicinity were dirty, and starting to wither away. Beyond them were mountains upon mountains of garbage, some disappearing into darkened sky. Thick layers of smog and clouds of toxic gasses hovered near the earth. Lisa watched as they passed one lake of smelly glowing waste after the other. The odd living creature they passed, was usually deformed beyond recognition. The child felt her stomach churn, and her heart sink. She turned her eyes towards her classmates, but she saw that no one was aware or, cared about what was going on around them. The glow of their screens reflected on their expressionless faces as their fingers worked away, not one of them was looking up. Lisa felt confused, was she the only who noticed how bad things got in the world?

It wasn't too long later that the bus stopped in front of the museum. The building was large, but hardly impressive, it had very few visitors scattered here and there. As if people no longer cared to see what they left behind. Or rather, were afraid of being reminded of what their indifference led the world to become.

"Alright children!" the teacher called out, "In an orderly fashion, line up in pairs."

"Ms. Carry! I don't want to be with Lisa!" a girl cried from the back of the row.

Lisa stared silently at the teacher who glanced back at her with some discomfort. "Fine, come along with me Melisa." She said, extending her hand back towards the addressed child, "Lisa… Try not to get lost."

Lisa didn't respond, it didn't bother her too much. Bullying had made her fond of solitude. At least, there wouldn't be anyone there making fun of her opinions if she dared to share them. The class entered the building, the poorly designed open space had some modals scattered around. Faded images of nature covered some of the walls. Modals of animals Lisa had never seen or heard of were displayed here and there. The teacher led them around, halfheartedly explaining about the displays to the uninterested children. Lisa moved at a slower pace, carefully absorbing the information around her. The teacher didn't seem to mind the child falling behind, as if it were easier just to pretend she didn't exist.

Lisa learned that there had once been 15-20 thousand different types of butterflies alone. The animal kingdom had once had approximately over 1.7 million different species documented, and an estimated 7 million others were out there to be discovered. Roughly 298 thousand species of plants had once made the earth green. Beautiful exotic flowers of all shapes and sizes had once covered the earth's surface, pretty little yellow flowers called Dandelions used grow _on their own _everywhere. The seas used to be a wonderful blue color, and had over 230 thousand kinds of fish in them. But whole forests were being wiped out. The fish in the oceans were dying at unimaginable rates, and the skies had gotten so polluted in some countries that the blue had turned to a cloudy grey. Lisa couldn't understand, why didn't the people of that time do anything? They could see what they were losing, why didn't they try to stop it? As a result, till date, 83% of the species had gone extinct*.

The blue eyed girl stopped in front of one particular display, of her favorite animal, the panda. It was her favorite for the obvious reason of reminding her of Him. The model was of a large mama panda, hugging a baby panda. The black paint was chipping, and white was turning grey. But Lisa didn't notice. She was trapped by what seemed to be the saddest sight there ever was. The information said that the pandas had been an endangered species since the year 1984, and soon after that became critically endangered. But no one did anything to stop the habitat destruction and not too long after, and so the pandas were gone forever. The pandas were no longer just a model in her mind, but living beings. Their faces were so sad, _why?_ Did they know they were dying? Disappearing into oblivion? Was that why the mother panda was hugging her cub? Was she trying to protect it? Or perhaps, comfort it as they died? Or was that their last goodbye?

"Lisa! Come on! Stop lagging behind." Her teacher's voice scolded from some distance away, awaking her from her thoughts.

Lisa looked down the room at her teacher, seeing that her class had passed her with some distance. She glanced one last time at the model, before catching up with the rest of the group. The trip was over, and it was time to go home. The rest of the class didn't seem fazed by the trip. It appeared that the whole day was already just a memory, outweighed by the news of a brand new updates in the electronic world. Nonetheless, Lisa couldn't stop thinking about the pandas, and what happened to the world. She decided that something needed to be done. Before it was too late, and they humans became nothing more than an unpleasant memory to the earth, that would soon fade away. She hardly noticed the teasing, and the black eye she got that evening was numbed by the importance of the plans she was forging.

The 7 year old entered the house quietly, her mother greeting her with reprimands about being late, and being a mess. Unfazed, she went up to her room, set clear sheets of paper, and began to draw. Drawing always had a calming effect on her, however her mother wasn't too fond of it, but never tried to stop her. The reason for her mother's discomfort, was that the girl always drew just one character, the man she saw in her dreams. Her mother had noticed her affinity for drawing at a very young age, ever since she ruined a number of white furniture and walls. As a young child, she drew black stick figures with blue dots for eyes. They later developed to become men with blue eyes in black and white jackets. It took the mother quite a long time to realize that those drawings all represented the same person. Her mother had taken her to a psychologist a year or so back, asking him what the meaning of it was. Lisa tried to explain that it was the man she always saw fighting monsters in her dreams, but no one would listen. The psychologist concluded that that was nothing more than an imaginary friend, or a representation of herself. And that it was completely normal but with all the bullying going on, that her mind would create such a person to be her hero, and save her from the '_monsters_'. She didn't argue. But her mother was becoming increasingly angry when her imaginary friend didn't go away, and so she'd learned to hide her artwork from her mother's critical eyes.

Lisa put down her black and blue markers, staring with satisfaction at her product. She was getting much better at drawing _Him_, the drawing looked a lot like what the man did in her dream that morning. She stuffed her drawing into the already full drawer of the same man, in different situations she'd seen in her dreams. Such as being chased by a giant worm, or dancing with a robot ninja to please a girl with purple eyes. She took out a new sheet of paper, and started scrawling the base of her new plan excitedly. Things soon started to take form. She felt pride well in her chest, she had never did something so important before.

She was going to change the world.

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"Lisa… Lisa wake up!" a voice called from afar.

The young woman lifted her head off her desk, rubbing her eyes. "Sorry.. I was dreaming.." she muttered to her associate.

"Well stop dreaming then, and get back to work." He muttered with annoyance, his honey colored eyes glaring at her.

"Do you know Grey that your eyes look like a tigers'?" she yawned.

"A what? You're not making any sense." He grumbled, marching off.

She frowned, _how does that guy even dare to call himself a biologist?_ Her mind drifted back to her dream, it had been more frightening than usual. _He_ had been fighting off an army of zombies with glowing tiaras on their heads, and had to save an old man being strangled by one of them. She was there, cowering behind his shoulder, even though nothing in her dreams ever interacted with her. She absentmindedly sketched his determinate 'face' as he shot the creature down with his sniper rifle. After all this time, she'd gotten very good at drawing Him. She never explained to anyone who this well detailed sketch represented. But she had more important things to worry about at the moment.

That field trip in the second grade had made her chose to get into environmental studies. That was bizarre, since most people had been going into computer and more technology oriented studies, because of the quickly growing importance of electronics. She also learned biology, and took some business and social studies courses. All for the sake of fulfilling her dream of bettering the world. She didn't quite remember what happened on that day, but she knew it changed her. She turned back to her report papers and smiled fondly, everything was working according to plan. She'd created an active organization to defend the dying world. She'd worked day and night to make people care, and now, after a few years of very hard work, people were starting to take notice. She called it the Do GOOD Organization, and made the panda its mascot.

It took her all day to finish sifting through those reports, most of them were about companies trying to sue the organization. Apparently, they weren't happy about being stopped from dumping their waste anywhere they pleased. It gave her some satisfaction to know that her organization posed that much of a threat to them. She stood up and stretched her back, just noticing that everyone else had already gone home. They weren't quite as dedicated as her to the project, but she was happy that she at least had people willing to help this good cause. By opening people's eyes, they were going to change the world. She gathered up her papers that were scattered across the desk, noticing that there was one report that she forgot to read. She put the papers under her arm, to read and fill on the bus and the way home. She locked the office and went down to the busy street.

When she was a teenager, their whole area was moved into the inner city, because the toxicity levels became too high. The new area they moved to wasn't much better, the manufacturing companies in the neighboring area, were producing a lot of toxic gasses. That caused most of the children to have repertory problems, and her father lost his voice. Soon after that, her mother passed away of cancer, like many other humans. In her adulthood, Lisa moved away from that, and went to live in the modern city of Eureka. It was relatively new, and highly technological, very different from the areas Lisa previously lived in.

Lisa looked up at the many screens, full of ads: "Why go out, when we can bring the outside to you? Enjoy sightseeing from the comfort of your home!" one ad announced. She shook her head and sighed, wondering how low could those ads get, or more importantly, how were people stupid enough to fall for them?

The bus stopped in front of the young woman, awaking her from her thoughts. Sure enough, everyone sitting inside was busy updating their online social profiles, or browsing ads that promised better and faster software for browsing ads. She sighed, opening the newest report and reading through it quickly. She felt a twinge pull at her heart, 3 new species had gone extinct, and 15 more became critically endangered. She folded the paper and put it aside, all the excitement she'd been feeling gone. Her organization wasn't big enough, wasn't strong enough to do anything yet. She looked around at the distracted group, did they not care that they'd never seen a monarch butterfly? Or that their children might never see the beauty of the blue sky? It seemed not, her organization hadn't changed anything.

Lisa felt depressed for the rest of the trip home.. She barely managed to finish the reports required from her. The feeling lingered with her until the next morning, as she woke up from a dreamless sleep still feeling down. She hardly noticed the half hour trip to her office. She entered the depressingly small space they called their base. Her few associates turned to greet her with half hearted smiles. She decided that it would be bad for the group spirit to be so glum, and so forced out a pale smile and greeted them with fake enthusiasm. She didn't think anyone bought it but didn't care.

Immediately she headed for her desk at the back of the room, and dropped her body on the revolving chair.

"You look like crap." Grey's snarky voice pointed out from behind her, before his hand extended over her shoulder, placing a cup of strong coffee on her desk.

"Shut up." She groaned, letting her head hit her desk.

Grey sat on the edge of her desk, placing his own cup next to him. "So what's the matter? Didn't get a good night's sleep?" His voice sounded sarcastic.

Lisa glanced at his smug grin from the corner of her eye, but quickly decided that she was just too tired for an argument. "It's the organization, it just isn't doing enough." She grumbled, lifting her head from her desk, and propping against her closed fist.

Grey looked away in thought, "I disagree about that." he replied.

"No way!" She gasped sarcastically.

His fiery eyes narrowed with annoyance, but he chose to ignore the remark, "I think we're doing pretty well for ourselves, it just takes time to change the world." With that he got off her desk, picking up his cup of coffee, and started to walk away, remembering to stop a couple steps later, "Just be patient. Don't do anything stupid."

Lisa watched him impassively as he walked off to join the others. His words echoed in her mind for the remainder of the day, causing her to grow increasingly irritated by it. _We don't have time!_ She snapped to herself, _I have been patient!_ Her actions clearly displayed the irritancy she felt, as she haphazardly gathered her papers at the end of the day, and went to lock the office.

"Are you Ms. Kendrick?" a polite male voice asked from behind.

"I'm sorry, we're closed now," Lisa replied in an absent tone, "but if you come in the morning.."

"I would like to discuss some important business matters with you.." he interrupted, not losing the calm polite tone.

Now irritated, she glanced over her shoulder at the man, he was middle aged, bald man. Dressed in an expensive looking suit, and his calm features bore a friendly smile. His intelligent eyes watched her from behind elegant glasses. In any other circumstances, Lisa would've been more than willing to work overtime, but that night she was just too annoyed for anything. "Like I said, if you come back in the morning.."

"Please," he interrupted once more, his tone still polite, but somehow more commanding.

She turned to face him with her whole body, ready to start yelling at him. She might've been a girl, but she was no push over. "Ms. Kendrick, this is very important, I want to help you with your organization," he added, unfazed, "I know you're running out of time."

Those words struck home for her, her posture immediately relaxed. The man easily picked up on that, and prompted to give her his business card from his inner pocket, "My name is Nick Hamilton, I'm a lawyer. I work for Red Grizzly."

Lisa was listening silently, but grew suddenly tense at the mention of the man's name. Red was a business man, that had his ties in every sort of business, from textile production, to electronics manufacturing. He was known for his army of lawyers. His latest project was to build a large glass dome over the major cities, to protect them from the still growing toxic Dead Zone. But what did such a man want with an organization such as hers, as far as she knows, she hadn't yet interfered with his work. What was this about?

"Mr. Grizzly sent me here to inform you," the man continued with the same flat smile, "That he would like to buy this organization from you."

Lisa was clearly taken back, words became lodged in her throat. "B…. Wha…?" she stuttered.

Nick smirked a little, and leaned back against a railing. "You see Ms. Kendrick, Mr. Grizzly has become increasingly interested in your little organization." He started.

"He.. Is?" Lisa breathed.

"Yes, he thinks what you are doing here is very noble." Nick nodded, "and this organization is quickly getting noticed by the people of our city."

"It is?" She questioned.

Apparently not annoyed by the continuous interruptions, Nick replied calmly, "But of course! Didn't you know that 78% of the people support what you're doing here? They agree that this is an organization to be trusted, they believe in you to do what's best for them." He then paused briefly to let what he said take effect on the girl, "And of course, I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't support you, and want all the best for this organization."

"Of course.." Lisa replied cautiously.

"But you see Mr. Kendrick, there are evil people out there, who will want to destroy you, and stop the noble process." He said in a heated tone, "And a beautiful young woman like you, might not be able to stand up to them alone."

Lisa furrowed her brows, and was about to burst in his face, but he quickly interrupted calmly, "Before you say anything, I know about all the lawsuits against this corporation and your person. And believe a seasoned lawyer like me when I say, these won't just go away on their own." He made sure she understood fully what he was saying before continuing, "Mr. Grizzly has the money and the knowhow, especially in this business world. He can make all these troubles go away, and help your organization thrive."

Lisa grew quiet, mulling over the matter from all directions. "And don't forget, if things go downhill, you're not alone, you'll be taking down all your friends with you. Not to mention that this cause will be lost forever." The lawyer reminded her, his expression serious as death.

Finally, after a few long minutes, in which Nick remained absolutely quiet Lisa managed to speak. "If I do sell, what will happen to the organization?" she questioned.

The man's smile held clear relief. "Well, of course there will be plenty of changes, such as the name and logo.." he began, "But we know what we're doing. We're going to expand this brand, make it reach everyone on the planet."

Clearly intrigued, Lisa was about to say something, before she held it back, biting down on her lip and clearing her throat. "And what about my coworkers? What will happen to them?" she asked, her voice horse.

The man adjusted his glasses, looking away for a second as he formed his answer. "Well, our corporation has its own experts," he said slowly, "But I assure you that Mr. Grizzly will make sure they are well taken care of."

He then took a check out of his inner suit pocket, and handed it to her. "And this is just a taste of what we're talking about." He added with a sly smile.

She stared at the large number with uncertainty, there was just so much to consider. "You don't have to answer me right now Ms. Kendrick. Discuss it with your palls first." Nick said, as he adjusted his suit, "But Mr. Grizzly is a busy man, he doesn't have enough time to spend on all these smaller projects. I will come back tomorrow evening for your decision."

Lisa continued to stare at the paper in her hand silently. "You started a great thing Ms. Kendrick, this project would be nothing without your persistence, and determination to make it work." The lawyer cut into her train of thought, "But it's time that you let it spread its wings and fly, become everything that it can be. If you let us, we can make your project greater than you ever dreamed, it will change the world forever."

He then straightened his back, smoothing out the creases in his jacket followed by a swift nod. "Good night Ms. Kendrick," he said calmly, "think about what I said."

With that he backed away, mumbling a short good bye before walking off. Meanwhile, Lisa remained completely motionless. The man's words remained in her head, in a constant miserable loop. She barely sensed the ride home, her face bore the same spaced out expression as everyone else. She spent a mostly sleepless night tossing around in bed, replaying the conversation continuously, as she mulled the subject over from all angles.

The next day she arrived at work with bloodshot eyes, but at least she'd come to a decision. Her coworkers stared at her with uncertainty, as they mumbled amongst themselves about what might be the cause.

"You look like hell." Grey greeted her.

"Thanks." She mumbled not willing to start an argument in her current state.

"So what's up?" He asked.

She stared without answering. "Guys, I have an announcement!" She called out to the rest of the office.

She stood up and paced towards the middle of the room, Grey's suspicious eyes following her every move. "I..." she started, realizing that she was starting to lose her nerve, "I'm selling Do Good to Red Grizzly."

Everyone was clearly surprised, but chose not to argue. "You don't have to worry about losing your job. Red has promised to help us all financially, and he wasn't just joking around."

In the most part, no one seemed to care that their project was over. If anything, they seemed rather relieved that they were done with that nonsense. Their lack of emotion bothered Lisa somewhat, but at the same time assured her that she was doing the right thing.

Only Grey was genuinely bothered by the news, he confronted Lisa but got quickly shrugged off.

"Can't you see that this wrong?!" He shouted angrily, "I knew you're an idiot, but not to this degree!"

"This is a good thing, it's the only way that this movement can evolve." She shouted back, "I want to do the right thing, and sometimes that's letting go, and letting things take shape on their own."

"What?! You have a great organization. Can't you see the value of what you're letting for of? Our hard work is finally starting to pay off, and you suddenly want to quit?" he growled, "What is this about? This isn't you Lisa! I know this isn't you!"

"I don't know what to do anymore!" she cried, "All my efforts were useless! I couldn't change anything.. If giving up on this means it can turn into something great for the world, then so be it!"

Grey became quiet, while Lisa sniffled, and wiped away a tear. "Don't do this Lisa.. I have a terrible feeling about all this." He said, in an uncharacteristic low voice.

Lisa had been having that same feeling for quite a while, like something was going to go very wrong. But on the other hand, everything was saying that it was the logical way to go. She adjusted her bag over her shoulder, lifting her head and drawing a dull expression on her face. "Good bye Grey," she said coldly, "I don't think we'll meet again in this lifetime."

The man didn't protest as she left the office for the last time. The paperwork was done in a hurry, and the organization was signed over to Red. The bad feeling never quite went away, in fact, it became worse and worse. Lisa waited impatiently for Red to follow through with what he promised, to change the world for the better. Only smaller changes would occur, he would buy the smaller companies, and integrate them into what he called the GOOD Directorate. That wasn't a bad thing, she thought, perhaps that way it was closer to the modern day person's digital oriented thinking. And having the GOOD Directorate branch out, and integrate itself into all fields, meant that it would be able to make a difference everywhere. She reasoned.

But the bad feeling still wouldn't go away.

Until one morning she woke from an unsettling dream. In it, she was standing across from a little girl, with vibrant purple eyes. The girl was grinning maliciously, as she slurped her beverage through a drinking straw. Lisa noticed that she wasn't in the usual dead world, but it was more like some black void. "It's done, you know." The girl hummed, her soft brown hair tied up in pigtails, which swayed as she bobbed her head to an unheard tune.

"What.. What is?" Lisa asked.

"Everything set in course now." The girl continued, flashing a set of white teeth. Then added in a sing song voice. "See you soon.. Snippy.."

"My name isn't Snippy." Lisa protested.

The girl only giggled, then stretched out her arm to point to the side, as she continued slurping her beverage. Lisa instinctively followed the gesture, seeing a large mirror next to her. To her surprise, she saw the man from her dreams facing her, mimicking her movement. She quickly looked down at herself, seeing that she was dressed in the black and white hooded jacket, and her hands gloved. "What's happening?" she breathed fearfully, but the little girl had long faded away, all was left was her, and her reflection.

Waking up, the dream was vivid in her mind. She stared at her shaking hands for a few minutes, before jumping out of bed. She hurried over to the large window, in her new apartment, staring out at the city. She could see new billboards being put up, ads everywhere.

"The GOOD Directorate is here for You!" one of the screens sang, "That's why, all our prices are half off!"

Lisa stared with horror, seeing the beast her organization had become. What was meant to be something to save the planet, had been turned into a money lusting, power hungry corporation. _No no! This isn't what I wanted_.. She thought with despair. _No.. Don't believe them.. Don't trust them.._ But it was too late, the GOOD Directorate was already everywhere. There would be no stopping them soon. She had caused everyone believe that this was what best for them, she'd doomed everyone.

Tears unconsciously started to trickle down her cheeks. This was all her fault, it will probably haunt her forever. It'll come back for her in another life if it must.

"_I'm so sorry."_

* * *

**A/N: Took me longer than I wanted to write this, and then the length just got out of hand.. sorry for that =P**

***When I mentioned "till date", I meant the time of the story…**


	5. Carl Sniper,All In Your Mind Over Matter

_A/N: FadedScribbles: Oh man, you guys I really must say, this is an awesome short and it threw me for the loop for surprise, and it was so creative at the end. If you wish to praise the author of this story, Tubular Fox is the one you want to send a message._

_Anyways, read onwards!_

* * *

**All In Your Mind Over Matter**

**Tubular Fox**

_Christian Hutcherson, M.D., Ph.D._

_June 10, 1952_

_**PATIENT CH070**_

_**Identifying Information:**_

_**Age: **__34_

_**Sex: **__Male_

_**Ethnicity: **__Caucasian_

_**Marital Status: **__Unmarried, no current relationship_

_**City of Residence:**__ Paris, France_

_**Chief Complaint: **__"I'm going crazy. I haven't slept in days, and when I do, I have these horrible nightmares. When I wake up, things are…I don't know, different. Like someone's been in my house and moved all of my things around? And I find things that don't belong to me. I feel like I must be the unluckiest man in the world."_

_**History of Present Illness:**__ The patient is an only child, born to two second-generation Russian immigrants __in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. When he was five years old, his parents divorced and his father was granted custody of him. Two years later, the patient's father remarried. The patient shows signs of early neglect from his stepmother and displays an anger towards his father for "leaving [the patient] alone with that fucking woman" while he spent long hours at his place of business, KDKA Broadcasting. This self-described "inability to connect" with his new stepmother and resentment at his father for "destroying the world he knew" by "bringing that overbearing, control-freak bitch" into his life led to the patient isolating himself in school. He often spent his days ignoring his schoolwork and classmates in favor of designing an imaginary world where over half of the planet had been destroyed. When the patient's parents discovered the drawings, they "freaked out" and "accused [him] of wanting millions of people to die in another war." Note that the patient's father served as a radio operator on the front lines of the Great War._

_When the patient turned twenty he left his hometown and moved to Paris, France, looking for "a change of atmosphere" that would be healthier than his current home life. He felt could "not get far enough away" from his stepmother if he stayed in the United States. One year later, when France declared war on Germany, the patient joined the French Foreign Legion, later allied to the side of the Free French movement. An accomplished marksman, the patient participated in the liberation of Damascus in 1941. In 1943 the patient was captured by German infantry and sent to the camp at Spandau where he worked in the chemical factories._

_Symptoms began presenting themselves after the end of the second World War. It began as a growing anxiety when the patient thought of gas masks-_

The doctor sighs almost imperceptibly and looks up from his report. I don't know what he's waiting for, but by now I can tell he's definitely waiting for _something._ I run a hand through my hair and can tell it looks worse than it did before, but I don't really care. It probably complements my five o'clock shadow and the dark bags under my eyes.

"So, Ca—"

"Sniper," I interrupt, correcting him for what feels like the thousandth time. I think he's under the impression that calling me by my first name will make us closer, make me 'open up more.' Well, no matter how familiar he tries to get with me there are just some things I can't talk about, no matter how many years we've known each other.

"Sorry. Mr. Sniper. I was wondering if we might talk a little more about Annie—"

"I don't want to talk about her!" Wait, since when am I standing? The glass of water that was on the table beside me is broken on the floor. I don't remember ever… Collapsing back into my chair, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I can feel a massive headache coming on.

Same old horrendous floral chair, same old drab office, same old Doctor, and same old pain.

"Sorry, Doctor. I don't know what came over me. I just—I don't like talking about my family, you know that. Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure, sure." He takes off his glasses to polish them, and I think there is a small smile on his face. It's gone before I can comment. "Why don't we talk about your new friend?"

I can't help but chuckle. "I have no idea where he came from. I just woke up a few days ago and he was on my pillow, this odd purple and black striped stuffed caterpillar. I named him Leica."

"Leica?" His glasses shine faintly green in the reflection from the window. It's so odd—I keep thinking that when I look outside I should see the ruins, not green grass. Doctor Hutcherson says that's part of why I'm here, for war trauma. I've drawn him in a gas mask on the front lines before, though I was never even on them myself.

But for some reason, I think he would have been better in the sky.

Shaking myself out of my distracting thoughts, I try to focus on what the doctor has been saying. From the way he's looking at me, I guess _he_ has been waiting for _me_ to say something. What were we talking about?

"Leica?" he prompts again, and now I remember.

"For the camera," I tell him. "I don't know why, it just seemed to fit."

"Maybe it's because he's like a photograph, holding a lot of memories. Does he hold any memories for you?"

"Why would he? I only found him two days ago. But he does seem a little worn. Is someone missing him? They could have him back…" Just saying it makes me feel sad. I don't want to give him up, but if there is a child who misses him, he should be returned.

"No, no, the owner isn't here at the moment. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you looked after him." Hutcherson shifts in his chair and glances down at his pad again. "Here, if you could just look at this picture for me…" He hands a piece of paper over to me and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Another ink test.

"Now, what do you see?" he asks, lowering his glasses so he can peer over them at me. He looks so hopefully expectant that I can't really refuse. I'm tempted to lie, but the picture is very clear and somehow, I think he would know.

"Okay. It's a heart."

-o-o-o-

_Christian Hutcherson, M.D., Ph.D._

_July 24, 1952_

_I am back again with the patient. In the past month we have come no closer to a breakthrough. His psychosis is very deep; just this morning it took three orderlies to drag him away from the mirror in his room. He kept screaming that he could see the end of the world through it. I am running out of time. I desperately want to help Carl Sniper—I am trying so hard to reach _him—_and I want to do it before the Directorate decides to step in and-_

Doctor Hutcherson looks weary today. I feel like he has been arguing with Father again. Hutcherson has always wanted to move me to the hospital with his other patients, but Father is afraid of the exposure that would bring the family so instead he moved me back to Philly and the only time I leave the house is to go to Hutcherson's office. I am glad that Annie isn't here, though I don't know where she went. But Father keeps looking at me like I murdered his dog, so whatever made her leave probably had to do with me.

I wish I was still in Paris.

"Hello, Doctor. Rough day?"

He laughs and gestures for me to head over to our usual chairs. "I'm fine, Mr. Sniper. How about you? Anything new to report?"

"Well…" And I have to think about it for a moment. There are many strange things in my life, but I wouldn't exactly call them _new._ "My mug started talking to me this morning. I tried to break it, but when I threw it it was stuck to my hand. When I opened my eyes, it was shattered on the floor."

The doctor leaned forward. "Which mug, Mr. Sniper?"

"Does it matter? It's broken now. Besides, what it was saying didn't make any sense." I wish I hadn't brought it up. I miss the mug now. As sad as it is, that little cup of happiness was one of my only friends—and it's not like it's the only murderous inanimate object I've ever encountered; the snow wasn't very friendly, either.

I don't want to have to get shocks again.

"Mr. Sniper, what did the mug say to you? This is very important." He is definitely interested now—his face looks like he just ended the war single-handedly. It's…irritating.

"You wouldn't believe me anyway. Let's talk about something else." It's amusing to see how fast his face crumples.

"Of course. Why don't we talk about…talking, then? It says in my notes from our first few conversations that you speak English and French only. Now, this was a few years ago. Have you learned any more since then? German, perhaps?"

"No."

"Have you made any more friends since we last spoke?"

"No, unless you count Father's strange attempt to make it feel like the house is occupied."

The doctor is interested now, I can tell. "What do you mean, 'occupied?'"

"He's been leaving me notes on the refrigerator. And I don't know why, but he's changed his handwriting. Or maybe it's Annie, I don't know, but it's weird."

"What do the notes say?" Hutcherson asks. I wonder, if I tell him, if he will finally be able to help me. I've been seeing the damned things in my dreams, too!

"It doesn't really make sense. One of them looked like a shopping list, but it just said: pineapple, bathtub, banana, potato, umbrella, bicycle, cardboard box. I mean, what the hell kind of shopping list is that? Other times, I find drawings taped to the walls—kids' drawings of a warzone. Father usually tries to take them down pretty quickly, though."

"I think it's wonderful that you've decided to use art to express your feelings," Hutcherson says, and I roll my eyes.

"I _told_ you, they aren't mine. Unless I'm somehow also a little kid when I'm not being _me._"

The doctor looks like he wants to say something but I stand up quickly, hoping to stop him. Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it. I just—I just know I don't want to hear it.

Hutcheson takes off his glasses and rubs his temples. He is frustrated with me because he thinks I don't want help, that I'm not trying hard enough. He says he's trying to 'reach out to me,' and that everything he does is for my own good.

I stopped believing that a long time ago, even before the snow outside his office tried to freeze me to death and my mug started spewing plans to murder me in my sleep.

He's always asking very specific questions, and even when I answer them, I don't feel any better. Sometimes—most times I don't know the answers to them. He asks me about what kinds of chemicals the Germans had even though I don't remember much of the time at the camp. He asks me about Annie and what happened to her. I don't know. She usually avoided me when I was in the house, and then one day she wasn't there anymore.

Sometimes he asks me—quietly, as if I'm not actually supposed to hear—about a winter a long time ago, when bullets and a plane and a doctor fell from the sky and the friendship that was made that day, but I don't know anything about that, either.

"Let's try talking about the army again, okay?" he says, for the third time this month. I nod, because I pity him, and he says, "You learned many things in the service that you still use today, correct?"

I nod again, because there are things I never forget. We speak about that for ten long minutes until he gives up, slumping back in his chair. For a moment, I am relieved. We're done. I stand up to leave, but he stops me with a gentle hand on my arm, his expression almost pleading. I wonder what he wants from me.

Finally, he asks, "And your rank, again, was?"

"Captain."

-o-o-o-

_Christian Hutcherson, M.D., Ph.D._

_September 11, 1952_

_This is it. There is no more time. I have tried to protect the patient from the Directorate, but they insist he is too dangerous to leave. With the unexplained 'disappearance' of Ann Netteley and the patient's refusal to admit guilt, the Directorate has ordered a frontal lobotomy. The man known as Carl Sniper will change, permanently, and everything he knows or does not know will go with him. The Directorate believes that _he_ will try to protect himself and finally tell us what we want to know._

_That the idea was suggested by the patient's own father sickens me. "You don't understand," he told me. "My son is the luckiest man on Earth. I'm sure if we just help him along, try to shock him back—"_

The Doctor is giving me such a sad look. For a moment, I almost believe that he feels bad for what's going to happen to me, but then I remind myself that it isn't me he cares about. It never was.

They think I don't know. They think I have no idea who was leaving me notes, who was moving my things, who killed Annie. But I do. I know now what the doctor was trying to tell me months ago, back when he was talking about the pictures and I didn't want to hear it. But it wasn't that I didn't want to hear it, no, it's that I wasn't ready to face it. I was trying to protect myself, or rather _he_ was trying to protect me.

I figured it out when I found the picture of Hutcherson, Leica, and me grinning by the gates of Spandau on Liberation Day, an expression that I have never worn. I figured it out when I found Annie's body at the bottom of the stairs, her hand clenched tight around a red scarf, the top step slippery with the tea that I don't drink dripping from the mug that I can't stand.

I figured it out when I finally checked to see whose name was on my dog tags.

They want to ask him questions about what he did in the war, the chemicals he worked with, the things they could do with those chemicals. But he isn't in any fit kind of shape to answer those questions.

Through the mirror, he sees the end of the world reflected back in his eyes that have seen so much death already.

He made me to protect himself, his faithful Sniper, and that's what I will do. He hid himself from the world so they would not be able to hurt him anymore. He hid himself from me so that I could not betray him.

So go to sleep, Captain Ezekiel Gregovich. Play in the frozen wasteland you created and drink tea from your stupid mug. You haven't been right since the chemical factories, but that's okay. If you want to pretend you can save the world instead of destroy it I'm not going to stop you. Your minions, the ones from the drawings you hung up all around our room, love you, anyway. In the end, they would probably die for you, you lucky bastard.

And I guess I will too.

It's a shame, you know. You've always looked better in black than I do. White's better for surviving on a God-forsaken snow-infested dead piece of rock but you've never had any sense.

Idiot.

Wait for me, Zee, okay? Don't do anything else until I get there, don't make any stupid decisions by yourself or send one of your brain-dead worshippers out to get the supplies you need. I've still got your back, even now.

I can't help but check my bag one more time as they take me out of Doctor Hutcherson's office, his sad eyes following me.

One pineapple. One banana. One potato. One umbrella. One folded up cardboard box.

…The bathtub and the bicycle are going to have to wait, though. I hope they aren't important to our immediate survival.

All of the mirrors are covered as the orderlies lead me down the hall. I search vainly for my reflection in anything that will show it, wondering if I'll see what you see. Wondering if I'll see what makes you scream. It would be nice to be prepared for what I'm getting myself into.

Maybe we'll finally meet face-to-face in hell.


End file.
